


Peppermint Kiss

by Lillyleaf101



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Hogsmeade, Hogwarts, M/M, Secret Santa, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-08 14:14:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5500352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillyleaf101/pseuds/Lillyleaf101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Voldemort sneaks into Hogsmeade for an afternoon of nostalgia and gets more than he bargained for for Christmas.</p><p>Secret Santa for a member of the Harrymort Facebook group. Hope you enjoy it!</p><p>COMPLETE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peppermint Kiss

The Dark Lord Voldemort strolled slowly and casually through the frost laden street of Hogsmeade, he was cautious as he went, despite the expertly crafted disguise he had made himself, consisting mostly of very strong notice-me-not spells and the like, but if anyone suspected him of anything it would be only that he was there for the usual shady business of the Hogshead Inn or the stores that were off the main streets and did not allow students inside.

He quietly enjoyed the crunching of the snow beneath him, he had only recently gotten his body back and was rediscovering the great many things he had missed during his years as a spirit without a body. Every sound, smell, and even sight was so very different to how it had been in his spirit form, looking back he wondered how he had made it at all with such dull and distorted senses, eventually settling on it having been his will to survive and nothing more. He never wanted to go through such a horrible ordeal again, he never wanted to miss out on a single thing the world had to offer him.

Staring at the snow before him his mind took it in completely, the crystalline specks that made up the unbroken surface, the light reflected off of each unique flake in the blues and greys of the sky above, far enough from a shop or wall that the brightly coloured Christmas lights and jarred pixies did not mar the perfectly gentle look. Gentle was an odd word for snow he thought, for it often fell hard and heavy, and was made up of such tiny and sharp pieces that if they were made of glass they would surely cut through anything, and was cold enough that it would slowly kill anything unlucky enough to get lost in its grip. Overwhelmed with a sudden urge he slipped a long-fingered glove off his hand and then, kneeling, he brushed the clawed tips gently over the snow, barely leaving a mark. His hand got cold fast, colder than it usually was at any rate. _So gentle looking and yet so deadly_ , he thought.

No one payed attention to the heavily cloaked man kneeling with a hand rubbing through the snow as if looking for something he'd just dropped, his hand getting faster and rougher as he was lost in watching the once perfectly untouched snow scatter and melt and break before the simple movements, the reflected light off of each clump catching in his crimson eyes, though he did not blink, not wanting to miss a moment of the seemingly pointless, yet entirely glorious, action. It was only a short time after he had started the action that he stopped, finger tips resting in the freezing substance, a tiny scoop now formed in front of him. He lingered only for a second longer before his gaze finally flitted away and he swiftly stood, dragging his hand with him, the claw-like nails leaving small gashes across the scoop, now looking as if a stray dog or fox could have done it.

Flicking the snow off his hand he returned it's glove before adjusting his thick scarf, which covered his shoulders and lower half of his face, and continuing on his path, still enjoying the crunch of snow but less entranced by it now that he had gotten it out of his system. A long way across the town Hogwarts loomed over the settlement upon it's softly sloping hill, and he felt a pang of pain that despite his ability to get into Hogsmeade without trouble he would not be able to get to his dear castle, only observe her from afar, but how he did miss her so, his one true home.

Intending to get as close to her as possible he continued on his way through the main street, being careful to watch everyone around him just in case his spells faltered, unlikely as that was. He did not want to have to get into a fight right now, his new body was still adjusting to being a living, moving thing rather than a barely-alive golem, and he was no where near strong enough for a fight. Any conflict at all would require him to flee and he would lose his chance to see his home for the first time, with his own eyes, in many many years.

It wasn't quite time for students to be heading home to spend Yule with their families and so a few stray students wandered about the town, either enjoying the snow before it got too thick and heavy or rushing about looking for last-minute Yule-time presents. None of them would be able to tell who he was, their powers not as strong or refined as more aged wizards such as those who would be residing inside his castle, and so he felt safer walking among them rather than chancing adults who may have spells up against being fooled.

The closer he got to the castle the nosier his surroundings grew, the tinkle of bells from shop doors and the chatting of students mixed with the crushing trudging of boots through inches of snow. The Dark Lord did not mind so much, more noise and bustle meant less chance of detection after all, and he was enjoying hearing sounds as they should be heard, welcoming the noisy sleighs drawn by horses mimicking the white of the snow, remembering the times when he would ride one from his castle to the town, surrounded by his green-tied lackeys.

It wasn't long before he stood on the very edge of the town, brightly decorated walls behind him and a long expanse of frost covered ground before him, leading up to the great castle. He stood there, unsure if he should dare to get closer, if he did then he risked getting close enough to the wards to alert Dumbledore of his presence, which would surely ruin his evening. He spent a long time simply gazing at the castle, remembering all of the wonderful things he had discovered about her, and magic, and about himself inside those walls. He remembered going from a lonely, good-for-nothing orphan to an equally lonely good-for-nothing mudblood to a star student and then the Dark Lord he is today, quite the journey, and all thanks to magic and his will to prove he was better, better than those who had doubted him, and better than his past selves.

He might have stayed there forever, staring at the beautiful castle and lost in his memories, ignoring everything around him, if a disgruntled gurgle hadn't sounded from below. His stomach. While he enjoyed having a body back that also meant having back all of the requirements of looking after it, such as food. When he had first experienced hunger again for the first time in so long he had been confused and angry, having almost forgotten about such mundane needs, and it took him a moment to realize that the noise had been from him and that he was hungry, but he had quickly remedied the problem.

Giving one last, longing look to the castle he turned and headed back into the thick of the town, intent to find the nearest pub. Having spent a good portion of his life eating little more than stale bread and old cheese he did not mind pub food so much, though nothing would ever beat the great feasts of Hogwarts. It didn't take long to come upon the pub marked with broomsticks, up to three now after all these years, and quickly duck inside, making sure his face was properly covered by his scarf. His thick, dark robes were sodden at the bottoms where they had lain atop the snow and dripped water onto the wooden floor, adding to a puddle contributed to by every other guest that had sought food and shelter from the cold in the warm and welcoming establishment.

The atmosphere inside was starkly different from that of outside, where the sounds had been soft and gentle, and the air cold and biting, instead here it was filled with the smell of warm food and drink, people happily chatting and wishing others well over Yule, the fireplaces scattered across the large dining area roared in a friendly manner, as if begging for people to relax on the couches and plush chairs before their flames. Pulling out the coins he had on him he shoved them across the bar at a man washing a mug, pointing to a warm dish on the menu and left to find a table without saying a word, not trusting his cold, high, and raspy voice even with the loud chatter around him. It wasn't that odd to get people, or creatures, that preferred not to talk in public in such places anyway, so it was a better bet to stay quiet than to risk becoming suspect.

Finding a booth at the back of the pub he slid in and then relaxed his body and mind, sending out mental, magical feelers to check on the state of his charms, all were working properly as he expected but he pushed a little more power into them, not wanting to be discovered in a building full of adult wizards and students whom they would surely want to protect from him, even if they refused to admit he was back yet, which was another thing he wanted to keep going for as long as possible, it made things much easier if his enemies were busy arguing over whether he was or wasn't back to figure out what he was up to and how to stop him.

As it was, he wasn't up to anything at the moment apart from wanting to be close to the castle. He had rescued his death eaters from Azkaban months prior, on Halloween, the strongest night of the year, but they were still scattered and he was still weak, it would take longer before they were in proper shape to execute his plans, thus he had left the job of rounding up the strays to Wormtail while he slipped away from the damned Riddle House he hated so much, despite the relative safety it had provided him before he got his body back.

Despite how crowded the pub was it did not take long before his meal arrived, with a mug of warmed butterbeer to go with it, and he was thankful that the waiter scurried off without further word, not even attempting to catch a glimpse of his face under his hood, thank wizarding customs to give people their privacy. He gently dug into the meal, in no hurry to eat more than his skeletal body could take, and enjoying what was the best food he had gotten since his return. He kept an eye on the groups of beings around him, picking apart what each was up to and making sure none payed too much attention to him for long.

He was finishing the last few sips of his butterbeer when a distinct figure caught his eye, Dumbledore had entered the pub with a group of teachers, they were in no rush it seemed so his position was still safe, but he knew he could not safely stay where he was now. Despite his desire to find out what had brought the headmaster and his lackeys to the pub he knew now was not the time to risk a fight that he may not win in his current position. When he was sure that the groups attention was on each other and not on any suspicious looking loners he got up and sneaked out the nearest back door, which led him into a small alley between the pub and its neighboring shop, the tall grey, stone walls stifling the bright light beyond to set a dull shadow over the area, a perfect spot to keep out of sight.

For a moment, in the dark safety of the narrow alley he took a moment to let his mind wander to why Dumbledore would have been there, and how close he may have come to being found out by the one person he really did not want to be found by right now. It wasn't until a second too late that he noticed _something_ barreling down the alley, obviously not having seen the dark cloaked figure and heading for the pubs back entrance like it's life depended on getting inside the cheery pub. With a crack of skull meeting flat nose he was bowled over by the thing.

Had he been at full power he might have been able to pull his wand out before the collision, Merlin he probably wouldn't have been caught by surprise so easily. Attempting to roll away from the other he found that they had landed squarely on top of him and were heavier than he expected, when they stirred he quickly raised a hand to fix his scarf and hood, hoping whoever it was would simply apologize and continue their hasty journey inside the pub. No such luck, instead the figure slapped a hand to their head and moaned in pain, eyes screwed shut as they knelt over the Dark Lord, propped up on their knees and one hand. Of course, the one person he had to bump into, literally, would be the one who could know who he is despite his many charms. Harry fucking Potter.

He was tempted to kill the boy right then and there, hand twitching, fingers itching to pull out his wand from his pocket and speak those words that would end the boy once and for all. But he didn't. Surely Dumbledore would know, surely there would be spells around the town to detect _that_ kind of magic at least, not to mention how very close Dumbledore still was, so close that if a window into the pub existed in the alley he might be able to see them now. It was too risky, he was in no shape for such a risk. Instead he reached his arms behind his back and dragged himself backwards, out from under the boy whom was still clutching his head in pain.

For a moment he just stared at the boy, still sitting on the ground, not sure if he should make a hasty retreat from the village or not. He had hoped to catch another look at the castle, perhaps try to get a bit closer to the grounds, that would all be ruined if he left now, and there would be no other chance to come back.

He stayed like that for a few seconds more, or maybe less, simply stuck staring until suddenly the boy's frantic, pained rubbing stopped and he was dead still, as if a switch inside him just went off, and then, so suddenly his neck might have made a tiny cracking sound, his head shot up to look at The Dark Lord, huge green eyes wide, filled with surprise and fear, like a deer cornered by a hunter. He then started scrambling backwards, his knee catching on his thick, winter school cape and making him fall back on his arse, his hand desperately trying to dig into his pocket but not quite making it inside in his frantic rush. Voldemort quickly pushed himself at the boy, not bothering to stand as he grabbed the child's neck and slammed him into the nearest wall.

"Don't even think about it Potter." He hissed venomously at the terrified face, the boy unable to say a word even without the hand on his neck, "We both know who would win that fight."

The boy struggled, pain clear on his face and the beginnings of tears in his eyes, no doubt from the scar on his head that would be aching from the contact. His hands reached up to grasp at Voldemort's wrists but he was clearly in too much shock and pain to pry away even Voldemort's weak body from his own.

Gasping several more times he finally found his voice is a harsh pant, not strong enough to reach even the edges of the alley but enough that Voldemort would hear him clearly, "Why don't you do it then? Do me like you did Cedric."

Voldemort thought on that for a moment, why not? He had the perfect opportunity right now to get his revenge on the boy, though he knew the boy wasn't _really_ to blame for what happened, it had been his mother, someone whom he would never truly get revenge on, unless he did kill her son, but even then it's not like the dead can feel, can know what happened, and even if they could that was a subject he never wanted to linger on. He contemplated the boy, it was almost like he _wanted_ to die, there was a rage in his eyes, below all the shock and pain too, which interested him. His earlier thoughts came back, about seeing Hogwarts a bit more.

"No." Voldemort stated, straightening his back a bit and standing taller, "I'm not going to kill you Harry Potter, not yet... But I want to know something." He stared impassively into the boy's face, "What is Dumbledore doing inside The Three Broomsticks, he isn't one for leaving his office unless required after all."

Harry did not answer right away, but Voldemort let him take the time he needed, a gift he would not bestow upon his death eaters. It was with a defiant sniff, though not aimed at Voldemort, which surprised him a little, that the boy answered "I have no idea. That's why I was trying to get inside. Dumbledore is hiding things from me." Harry stated viciously. The boy was angry as he said it, the rage flaring up and clearing the pain from him. Interesting.

"How do you know?" Voldemort tested, Dumbledore was as good at lying and keeping secrets as he was, and as observant as the boy was he was still playing the game against a master of the board.

"Because I just do!" The boy replied defiantly, bravely staring back at him, "He has been avoiding me all year!" He flinched then, not from fear of being reprimanded but rather the returning awareness of the pain in his head.

"Tell me about it." Voldemort said, his voice softer, trying to temp the boy into spilling secrets that could reveal weaknesses about Dumbledore to him. Harry's eyes opened, staring weakly back into Voldemort's face again, "Tell me, and I will release you. But if you run you will soon find yourself without voice or legs." He added the last part with a hint of malice creeping into his softened voice.

The boy took a moment to think and then, slumping back against the wall with a heavy sigh he relented, "Alright, it's about time _someone_ listened to me..."

Once Voldemort released the pressure on the boy's neck he did not try to run, instead he slid down the stone wall to sit in the snow, head hung dejectedly as he recounted how things had been since the graveyard incident several months prior.

Voldemort soon found himself enraptured with the boy's life, asking him to elaborate on certain things and offering help when the boy was lost on how to describe something, making the conversation all the easier for both to slip into. Harry told him all about the dementor attack and the unnecessary trial, he told him about Grimauld place and Sirius trapped inside with Buckbeak, about Dolores Umbridge and her abusive punishments, even showing him the words scarred into the back of his hand. He even told him about the strange dreams, which Voldemort of course instantly knew what was going on there, gears turning in his head as to why, though he did not voice anything about it and shoved it aside for now, eager to hear whatever else the boy had to tell him.

The more they talked to more expressive Harry got, admitting things to Voldemort that he did not even admit to his closest friends, explaining how certain things made him feel and how it all seemed to be piling up along with all of the worry about his OWLS. Upon that revelation Voldemort offered to help him if he had specific things he was having trouble with in the subjects, looking back he did not know why, perhaps it was the part of him that had truly wanted to be a teacher, perhaps it was a way of paying back the boy for the information he shared in more than just sparing his life, either way they soon found themselves wandering the woods outside Hogsmeade, following a similar path to the one used by students to reach the carriages from the train station, warm peppermint butterbeers Harry had gotten from a store in their hands, talking about the best ways to use levitation in both duels and daily life.

It wasn't until the sky was a milky pink in colour that Harry stopped walking, gasping loudly as his eyes shot up to the sky. "I'm going to be late! If I'm not at dinner Dumbledore or Umbridge will want to know where I was!" He then clamped his jaws shut with a click, eyes moving to where Voldemort stood, unease creeping into his expression as if just remembering _who_ he was talking to and if walking away back into the safety of the school grounds were even a possibility now.

Voldemort did not move though, merely turning to face the child, for that was what he still was despite everything he had gone through so far, "Go then." He stated simply, gently waving a hand out in the direction he should take to reach the grounds.

"Whaa...?" Was all Harry could, very intelligently, say, "Yo... you're just letting me go?"

"Yes. We reached a truce today, and while I can't say for sure if it will last I am not going to be the one to break it now, so go, consider yourself lucky Harry." He purred out the name, watching the boy shiver though for once he wasn't sure if it was in the usual fear such a trick induced in people.

"Oh... Aright." Harry turned as if to start walking away, but instead turned back around again, taking a few steps towards The Dark Lord, "Thank you by the way, for listening to me and helping me out with my studies." And then, catching him entirely by surprise, the boy leaned up on his tip toes and planted a soft kiss to Voldemort lips. It only lasted a second or two but Voldemort could swear the whole word, and his beating, fleshy heart, had stopped for what seemed like an eternity before the boy backed off, took a few steps backwards while he watched Voldemort's face, and then, a small grin on his face, turned and hurried through the woods towards the castle, leaving a still very surprised, dumbstruck, Voldemort behind in the darkening forest.

He would have to visit Hogsmeade more often.

 

 

_End._


End file.
